


A Bench with a View

by stjarna



Series: Engineering vs Biochem - 2017 (Team Engineering) [16]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bus Kids - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Meet Cute AU, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Well mainly fluff, meet cute, wouldn't be me without a hint of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Jemma Simmons likes her routines, and her routines include buying her favorite tea and a blueberry muffin in her favorite coffee shop every day after work and walking to her favorite bench on the boardwalk to look at the ocean before taking the bus home. But when she returns from a ten-day visit home, she’s suddenly faced with the unthinkable: someone else has discovered her bench.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta.
> 
> Banner by me
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about L.A. and I decided to keep my research for this fic limited, so just ignore any inaccuracies.

 

Jemma looks at the colorful, hand-painted sign above the door. _Sky Full of Daisies_ she reads, smiling happily. As nice as her visit to England had been, it feels good to be back in the States, back at work, back to her routines. She opens the door to the small coffee shop, causing the little bells above it to jingle.

“Hello, Daisy,” Jemma sings, a bright smile adorning her lips, as she steps up to the counter. “Same as usual.”

Daisy gasps in fake surprise, pressing her hand against her chest. “You telling me you’re gonna have the same thing you’ve had every day you’ve come here for the past three years?”

Jemma tilts her head to one side, raising her eyebrows questioningly. “Are you telling _me_ that you will insist on pretending you’re surprised by that?”

Daisy laughs, waving her index finger back and forth between the two of them. “It’s our thing. It’s tradition. It’s our routine. We can’t break that.”

Jemma chuckles quietly before nodding in agreement. “I suppose.”

“How was your trip home?” Daisy asks, grabbing Jemma’s favorite tea from the shelf.

“Oh, quite lovely. My nieces are getting so big. They’re adorable.” Jemma smiles, sliding her purse off her shoulder and setting it on the counter. At the same time she sighs with a hint of sadness.

Daisy spoons the right amount of Earl Grey into a tea bag before tying it up and placing it into a large to-go cup. “Must be hard, being so far away from your family.”

Jemma nods. “Sometimes it is.”

“So, is your work week off to a good start at least?” Daisy places the to-go cup under the hot-water dispenser, filling it with enough room for cream.

Jemma purses her lips, shrugging slightly. “Well, it’s not off to a bad start.”

Daisy can’t help but chuckle. “Same old, same old then?”

“Pretty much,” Jemma replies, grabbing one of the sugar packages.

“You do like your routines, don’t you?” Daisy asks, putting the cup down in front of Jemma.

“I really do.” Jemma bobs her head in affirmation, ripping the sugar packet open and pouring its contents into the steaming hot water. “And I believe it’s quite healthy.”

Daisy heads to the display cabinet to grab a blueberry muffin. “Well, thanks for letting me be a part of it.”

“Well,” Jemma says pointedly as she carefully removes the tea bag from her to-go cup with a wooden stirrer, dropping it in the trashcan by her feet. She reaches for the cream, pouring a small amount into the cup and stirs. “You have the best selection of teas and most delicious baked goods close to the lab.”

“And here I thought it was my charming personality that kept bringing you back.” Daisy grins widely as she rolls up the end of the paper bag containing the muffin.

Jemma rolls her eyes, smiling warmly as she presses a plastic lid onto her cup until it’s tightly sealed. “Well, that too, of course.”

Daisy lets out a little laugh, placing the paper bag on the counter. “Here you go, Miss Simmons.”

She types everything into the register and doesn’t even bother telling Jemma the final amount.

“Well, thank you kindly, Miss Johnson,” Jemma replies, sliding her debit card through the card reader and entering her pin.

“Same time tomorrow?” Daisy grins from ear to ear.

Jemma puts a dollar bill into the tip jar, mimicking the barista’s wide smile. “You may assume as much.”

She grabs her purse, the small paper bag, and her to-go cup, heading out the door and towards the boardwalk, a happy smile brightening her face.

It’s a beautiful autumn day. The sun is slowly setting, almost touching the horizon, but it’s still pleasantly warm with a soft breeze blowing Jemma’s hair back. She greets a few vendors that have become familiar with her face, but when her bench comes into view, she stops abruptly, furrowing her brows as a surprised “Oh” escapes her lips. Jemma slumps her shoulders, disappointed that her bench is occupied. She waits a few minutes, but the young man shows no intention of leaving anytime soon.

He looks about her age. Short, brown hair with a hint of curl, a light-blue button up with its sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. Dark trousers. He’s leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands absentmindedly rubbing against each other while his eyes are fixed on the ocean, the slowly changing colors of the sunset bathing everything in a warm light. There’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips that slowly seems to grow bigger. Jemma can’t quite tell what is so incredibly mesmerizing about him, but there’s something about his gaze that makes it impossible for her to look away.

Suddenly, he presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, wiping to the side, and Jemma can’t help a little gasp when she notices he’s started crying.

She looks side-to-side, suddenly shamefully aware that she’s been watching a stranger who clearly wished to have some privacy. She exhales sharply, spinning around on her heels and heading back the way she came.

* * *

As usual, Daisy looks up when the door jingles, surprised to see Jemma enter the coffee shop… again.

“What are you doing back here? Something wrong with your order?”

Jemma furrows her eyebrows, shaking her head, noticeably flustered. “No, no, everything is fine with the order, I’m sure of it. You haven’t screwed up my order in over two years. It’s just—” She rolls her eyes ever so slightly. “There was someone sitting on my bench.”

Daisy gasps in pretend outrage. “Do I need to kick some ass?”

Jemma tilts her head to the side, pressing her lips into a thin line, raising her eyebrows and giving Daisy her patented _Oh please_ look.

Daisy points at herself with both thumbs. “Hey, I’ve got some hidden talents you don’t know about, Miss Simmons!”

Jemma lets out a quiet chuckle, before sitting down sideways on the closest chair, placing her to-go cup and paper bag on the table and sliding her purse off her shoulder.

Daisy squints, suddenly realizing something. “This can’t be the first time this has happened, though? I mean, in three years someone must have sat on that bench before?”

Jemma opens the paper bag and reaches inside to get the muffin, briefly glancing at Daisy as she replies. “No, of course this isn’t the first time.”

Daisy shrugs. “Then what was different this time? I mean, in three years you’ve never come back to my place because your bench was busy and now you’re here all flabbergasted.”

Jemma gasps in protest. “I’m not flabbergasted.”

“Was it a bum?”

Jemma shakes her head, breaking off a piece of muffin. “No. It was certainly not a homeless person. And I’m not flabbergasted.”

She shoves the piece of muffin into her mouth, chewing so vigorously that Daisy almost feels sorry for the baked good.

“Was it someone naked?”

Jemma coughs, pressing her palm against her chest until she’s recovered, before opening her mouth, grimacing in disgust. “No. Why on earth—?”

Daisy raises her hands defensively. “Hey, wouldn’t be the first time for me.” Her index finger suddenly darts forward. “Ohohoh… Was it that Nathanson guy from work?”

Jemma rolls her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh please, Nathanson wouldn’t be sitting alone on a bench, watching the sunset over the ocean.” She takes a sip from her tea, before adding nonchalantly. “He’d have to pull his head out of our boss’ arse to do that.”

A proud and mischievous smile appears on the English scientist’s face and Daisy can’t help but snort with laughter.

“Alright,” Daisy says, once she’s recovered. “So then why are you all—”

Jemma glares at her.

“— _not_ flabbergasted,” Daisy finishes.

Jemma shrugs, taking a sip from her tea, before replying. “I don’t know. There was just something about the way he gazed at the sun and the ocean as if nothing else existed. It was—”

“Heeeeeeee?” Daisy interrupts her, grinning widely.

Jemma puts her cup down on the table, slumping her shoulders and squinting in discontent at Daisy. “His gender has nothing to do with it.”

“Do his looks have something to do with it?” Daisy wiggles her eyebrows, earning her another stern look from her favorite customer.

“No. Not his looks. Nor his gender. There was simply something unusual about the way this _person_ stared at the ocean that had me… _not_ flabbergasted.”

Jemma stands up, putting her half-eaten muffin back into the bag and grabbing her to-go cup. “And it doesn’t matter at all, because that was today and tomorrow is tomorrow. And tomorrow I will get my bench back. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bus to catch.”

She holds both the paper bag and her cup in one hand, grabbing her purse with the other and swinging it over her shoulder. “Have a lovely evening, Daisy,” she adds, smiling politely, before heading for the door.

“See you tomorrow,” Daisy calls after her, unable to suppress a grin.

* * *

* * *

Jemma pushes the door to the coffee shop open with her back, listening for the familiar jingling of the bells hanging above the frame. She shakes out her umbrella before stepping inside, careful not to drop her paper bag and to-go cup.

She turns around, slumping her shoulders and staring helplessly at her friend behind the counter.

Daisy’s eyes widen in surprise. “Again?”

Jemma nods silently, before pulling out a chair and sitting down, leaning her umbrella against the second chair at the table.

“But it’s raining.” Daisy gestures towards the door.

Jemma shrugs. “I know. I was so sure I would get it back today.” She throws one hand in the air. “But there he was again. And he didn't even have an umbrella or raincoat or anything.”

Disgruntled, she opens her paper bag and breaks off a piece of her muffin, shoving it into her mouth.

“I thought you were the only person nuts enough to voluntarily sit on a bench in the rain and stare at the ocean,” Daisy remarks, her eyes fixed on the door in disbelief.

“I’m from England,” Jemma replies grumpily and defensively. “If I weren’t prepared to get wet once in awhile, I wouldn’t get fresh air at all.”

She grabs her to-go cup, opens the plastic lid, and blows on the still-steaming hot beverage.

Daisy squints, questioningly. “Rainy England. Bit cliché, don’t you think?”

Jemma shrugs, pushing her lip forward and sulking in self-pity. “Who cares? My bench is occupied… _again_.”

Daisy opens the fridge below the counter, pulling out a bottle of water for herself. “Man. It’s been what? Almost three weeks.”

“Yes.” Jemma sighs heavily, before lifting her shoulders to her ears. “I mean, I suppose I should have known that eventually someone would figure it out.”

Daisy unscrews her water bottle, bringing it half-way up to her lips, before pausing. She scrunches her nose, seemingly resisting the urge to say something.

“What?” Jemma asks, glaring at her friend questioningly.

Daisy shrugs. “Well. Have you considered finding a new bench?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Well, of course I’ve considered it, but when I moved here three years ago, I spent two months testing all the benches on the boardwalk and this one is by far the best, no questions asked. It’s really quite surprising that it took so long for someone to come to the same conclusion, to be honest.”

“Have you considered asking him to move?” Daisy asks, hesitantly.

Jemma gasps in disbelief. “I couldn’t do that. It’s a public bench. He has every right to be there. And, clearly he has a deep connection to this location.”

She waves her hand in the air. “I mean, you should see him. The way he looks at the ocean day in and day out, smiling as if the sun had told him the world’s secrets.”

Jemma stops when she hears a quiet snort from Daisy, who immediately raises her hands apologetically when she’s met with Jemma’s stern glare.

“Sometimes he cries,” Jemma adds thoughtfully. “First he’ll smile and look so happy and then all of a sudden, he’ll start crying, but he also still smiles and it’s all very—” She pauses, before sighing heavily. “I can’t ask him to move.”

Daisy exhales sharply. “I’m sorry, Jemma, but I think your options are either hand in the towel, give him the bench and find a new one, or talk to him and tell him he’s entered your territory and see if you can figure out a solution. Make a truce or something.”

Jemma leans back in her chair, her eyes glazing over as she draws in a slow breath. “I suppose those are my options.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. The sun is just barely touching the water and the glistening reflection is almost blinding. A smile plays on his lips. It had been raining the past two days, and while the drizzling wet feeling on his skin and clothes and the grey clouds had felt more like home, more accurate, more like what he remembers, it’s nice to see the sun back, shining almost as brightly as—

“Excuse me.”

Fitz looks up in surprise. The woman standing to the side of the bench is smiling shyly, holding a to-go coffee cup in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

Reflexively, Fitz looks at his watch.

“It’s five twen—” he starts, but she immediately and vigorously shakes her head.

“No, no, no, that’s not why I—” She closes her mouth, looking a bit flustered.

_Crap._

“I’m sorry.” Fitz shrugs, apologetically. “I just moved here a few weeks ago. I don’t know where anything is. If you need directions, you should—”

“No.” Once again, the woman’s head moves left to right and back again in quick succession. “I don’t need directions either. I—”

She falls silent again, and Fitz wrinkles his forehead. “Are you selling something? Because I don't think I—”

The woman slumps her shoulders, letting out a heavy sigh. “No. I’m not selling anything.”

Fitz lifts his shoulders in confusion, shaking his head slightly and completely stumped as to what to make of her.

She’s about his age. Dressed meticulously from head to toe. Her wavy brown hair is blowing in the mild breeze. Her hazel eyes are warm and a hint of a shy and mysterious smile plays on her lips. There’s something mesmerizing about her, but at the same time the whole situation leaves Fitz utterly confused.

“This is my bench,” she remarks suddenly, and Fitz stares at her with his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

 _What now?_ he thinks, but somehow he seems to have lost his voice somewhere in the process of this whole strange endeavor.

His confused expression must have been noticeable, however, because she straightens up and continues talking at a speed that makes Fitz’s head spin a little.

“Well, obviously it’s not _my_ bench per se. It’s a public bench, and as such anyone has the right to sit on it. However, I’ve been coming to this exact bench at this exact time every day for the past three years, always after work, to enjoy the view of the ocean, my favorite cup of tea, and my favorite muffin from my favorite coffee shop just down the street— _Sky Full of Daisies_ , if you need a recommendation.”

She pauses briefly, like she needs to fill her lungs for a fresh flood of words, and all Fitz can do is stare at her with his mouth gaping ajar.

“Now, when I returned from a trip back home to England not quite three weeks ago, and came back to this very bench… well—as you are presumably well aware—you were sitting there. Now obviously that wasn’t the first time someone had sat on my bench… I mean on this bench, this public bench. But now it seems that you—much like myself—have discovered that this bench clearly is by far the best when it comes to view of and proximity to the ocean, shelter from the wind, amount of shade, and so forth. And—much like myself—you appear to have developed a routine of coming here, always around the same time, and well, my friend pointed out that I either have the option of finding a new bench, which considering—as I said—this bench is by far superior to all others, is a hard pill to swallow. Or, I could talk to you and see if we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

Once again, Fitz furrows his forehead. He briefly glances to both sides but doesn’t detect any hidden cameras. Sensing that she has a concrete offer in mind and with no idea how to respond anyway, Fitz decides to just wait and see.

“Basically, I was wondering if you would agree to simply share this bench with me. You on the right. Me on the left. Or vice versa. In that regard I don't really have a preference. I mean, I realize that the time you spend here every day is rather emotional and you may prefer to be al—”

“Emotional?” Fitz mutters, staring wide-eyed at the stranger in front of him.

She pauses for a second, looking back at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression, before shrugging microscopically. “Yes, well, I’ve seen you cry and—”

Fitz closes his eyes, burying his face in his hands and mumbling a muffled “Oh God” before lifting his head and giving the woman his best _Are you serious?_ look.

She grimaces, closing her eyes briefly before opening them and letting her head drop back. “God, I sound like a bloody stalker, don’t I?”

Fitz can’t bring himself to reply, but one corner of his mouth ticks up in acknowledgement.

She exhales sharply, gripping her paper bag a bit more tightly. “It’s just that I sometimes waited a few minutes to see if you would vacate the bench, and so that’s why I saw you, well, crying.”

She pauses for a second before quickly continuing her seemingly endless stream-of-consciousness. “And I don’t mind. Not at all. And it may not seem like it now, but I’m usually rather quiet and wouldn’t interfere with your private bench experience, so to speak. I would simply quietly sit on my side of the bench and leave you alone. Unless, you want someone to talk to, because—again, it may not seem like it now as I’m talking a hundred miles a minute—but I’m actually a very good listener.”

She stops again to swallow, before bopping her head with determination. “Anyway. That is my proposal: We share the bench.”

She smiles shyly, staring at him expectantly. Fitz is not even sure why the young English woman has rendered him speechless, but it’s a fact he can’t seem to change at this point.

Her friendly expression morphs into something more along the lines of panic. “You don’t even have to reply,” she blurts out, wide-eyed. “You could simply nod if this arrangement is agreeable to you, or shake your head to decline and I’ll leave right now and find—” she sighs heavily, shrugging ever so slightly, “—find a new bench.”

Once again, her brown eyes fixate on Fitz with expectation and a decreasing level of patience, while all Fitz can do is hold her gaze.

Then, suddenly, he feels his lips pull into a smile as a wave of laughter bubbles to the surface. He lowers his head, covering his mouth with his fist in an unsuccessful attempt to hide it. He shakes his head, amused by the whole situation, and clears his throat before looking back up. The corners of her mouth are ticked up into an awkward, polite smile, but her eyes seem pained with anticipation.

Another quiet laugh escapes Fitz. He shrugs, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “It’s a public bench. Of course you can sit here.”

Her face lights up and she puffs out her chest a little bit, scrunching her nose, before turning around to sit down on the bench. “Thank you.”

Fitz scoots slightly to give her more space, watching her as she carefully places her to-go cup on the armrest and the paper bag on her lap, before sliding her purse off her shoulder and setting it on the bench next to her.

She turns slightly, extending her hand. “I’m Jemma.”

Fitz hesitates for a second, before accepting her handshake. “Fitz.”

A smile flashes across her face, so infectious that Fitz can’t help but mimic it. “Well, enjoy your sunset, Fitz,” she says quietly, her voice laced with warmth.

“Thanks.” Fitz chuckles quietly, gazing at her for a moment longer, before letting his eyes wander back to the sinking sun and the gentle waves washing up on the shore.

He startles briefly when a piece of muffin suddenly appears in his view. He turns and is greeted by the same warm smile as before, and a hand encouragingly lifting the piece of baked good a little higher.

The corners of his mouth tick up and he mumbles a quiet “Thank you” as he takes the kind offering and shoves it into his mouth, while simultaneously turning his head back to face the ocean.

Fitz is unable to stop a contented hum from escaping his lips as he chews and swallows the delicious bite. He tries to focus on the ocean, but somehow his eyes are constantly drawn back to the woman sitting next to him. The ever-changing light of the sunset bathes her face in a beautiful orange glow and gives her brown eyes an almost golden shimmer. A soft smile plays on her lips as she takes little sips from her to-go cup, her hands wrapped around the cardboard cozy.

Fitz looks back at the horizon, unable to stop from smiling himself. He leans forward again, resting his arms on his knees, rubbing his hands back and forth. He draws in a deep breath, releasing the air slowly through his nose. His gaze wanders to his hands, and for a moment all he focuses on is the sensation of his palms moving back and forth against each other.

“My mum died about a year ago,” he admits quietly. “Cancer.”

He doesn’t dare look at the woman sitting next to him, but his eyes briefly wander to the ocean instead. “She spent the last few months in hospice. She was pretty stable and mobile and all that, just… just not quite fit enough to live by herself anymore. I tried to visit her as much as possible, but—well, work and all that.”

He pauses, swallowing hard to try and loosen the tightness forming in his throat. He looks at the ocean, taking a few deep breaths in sync with the waves before continuing, a smile tugging on his lips. “She loved the ocean. Loved it. So, whenever I flew up from London to visit her, I’d rent a car and we’d drive there.”

He scoffs, amused by the memory. “Certainly a very different ocean view than here, but… I don’t know, when I moved to L.A.—”

Fitz shrugs, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Well, I don’t have a lot of friends here yet. Not surprising after a month, I suppose. Anyways, I just explored things on my own and then I found this bench one day… and it was just—”

He sighs, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a half-sad, half-happy smile. “I don’t believe in God, or an afterlife, and neither did she, but… I don’t know, when I sit here and listen to the waves and watch the sun set, or the rain hit the water, I feel closer to her. Memories coming back. I don’t know. It’s nice.”

Fitz exhales a cleansing breath, smiling in relief. He turns to look at his new bench neighbor and freezes when he sees her brown eyes shimmering behind a curtain of tears.

He shuts his eyes, dropping his head back. “Bloody hell, I made you cry.” He presses his palms together, pleading with her. “God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking or why I’m telling you this or—”

“No. _No!_ ” Jemma interrupts him, reaching over and gently touching his arm, a reassuring smile playing on her lips. “Please, don’t apologize. It’s a beautiful story. And I meant what I said: I’m a good listener.”

Fitz’s eyes wander to her hand on his forearm, before looking back at her. He’s unable to hide a smile. “You really are.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says quietly, giving his arm a little squeeze before removing her hand. She gazes at him with a mesmerizing softness.

“Thanks,” Fitz replies, barely audibly.

He draws in a slow breath, pushing himself up to standing, before turning around to face her. He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “I should be going.”

“Oh, I hope you don’t feel like—”

Fitz raises his hands reassuringly. “No. No. Not at all.”

He clears his throat, pressing his thumb into the palm of his hand, and lifting his shoulders slightly. “I just wanna call my lawyer, so he can draw up some kind of public bench sharing agreement for us.”

Jemma laughs, her smile growing from ear to ear, before she forces a more serious expression. “Excellent thinking. Have your lawyer call my lawyer.”

Fitz can’t help but chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Will do.”

He rubs his hands together a few times, unable to bring himself to leave yet. “So, umm, you said you come here every day?”

“Every work day,” Jemma clarifies. “I don’t live within walking distance. On the weekends, I usually take it easy. You know, farmers market, brunch with friends, maybe a concert, sometimes just staying in with a good book, that sort of thing.”

“Ah.” Fitz nods in understanding, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I… I’m still new, like I said. I usually come here everyday after work and in the mornings on weekends. Nine. Ten. Whenever I wake up. Very different atmosphere around that time of day and part of the week.”

“I bet.” She’s still smiling at him widely. “Well, you’ll have the bench all to yourself tomorrow then.”

Fitz nods, pursing his lips. “Guess I’ll see you again Monday.”

“Yes.” She lifts her to-go cup a little higher. “With a cup of tea and a blueberry muffin.”

Fitz lets out a little laugh, lifting his chin in her direction. “Enjoy your bench, Jemma.”

“Our bench.” She scrunches her nose, her eyes sparkling mischievously, and Fitz tries in vain to suppress a grin.

He clears his throat, furrowing his brows, and pressing his lips together to keep his smirk under control. “Let’s see what our lawyers say first.”

Jemma chuckles. “Have a lovely evening, Fitz. And a good weekend.”

“Likewise. Jemma.”

Fitz inhales deeply, before nodding his head one last time as a goodbye and heading towards his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I'll try to update soonish.


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz rolls his eyes when the umpteenth runner passes right in front of his view, followed by the umpteenth roller skater, and the umpteenth biker. For some reason the boardwalk seems particularly busy this morning. He draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to focus on the sound of the waves gently washing up on the shore.  
  
“Is this seat taken?”  
  
Fitz looks up in surprise, and almost by reflex, a smile flashes across his face.  
  
She’s dressed more casually today. Jeans, a light jumper and jacket, a scarf draped around her neck, her purse hanging over her shoulder. Her hair is pulled up into a loose pony tail, a few strands of hair framing her face, and her sunglasses are pushed up like a hairband. She smiles down at him, her eyes sparkling with the same warmth he’d noticed the day before.  
  
“I thought you didn’t come here on weekends?” Fitz asks, surprised.  
  
Her smile seems to pull even wider, and she grips the shoulder strap of her purse a bit more tightly. “Not usually, no. But there’s an arts and crafts fair today—” Her body sways to the side briefly and her head ticks in the direction of the boardwalk she must have come from. “Not far from here, and… Well, you mentioned yesterday that you haven’t made a lot of friends yet, and I certainly remember how difficult it can be to find your place when everyone already has their established circle of friends and their routines and all that, and how isolated one sometimes feels. So, I thought I’d see if you’d like to join me.”  
  
“Oh.” Fitz raises his eyebrows, looking at her wide-eyed and in awe. “That… that… thanks.”  
  
He pushes himself up to standing, straightening his jacket and exhaling sharply through his rounded lips.  
  
Jemma presses her palm against her chest, seemingly surprised. “Oh, the fair doesn’t start for another forty minutes or so. I’m a bit early. You mentioned you’re here around nine or ten and I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t miss you.”  
  
“Oh. Umm.” Fitz scratches the skin below his ear, before gesturing at her. “Maybe that coffee shop you mentioned—”  
  
Jemma’s face lights up. “Sky Full of Daisies?”  
  
“Yes.” Fitz points at her, before lifting his shoulders. “Is that the same way?”  
  
Jemma purses her lips. “Not entirely, but it’s not much of a detour.”  
  
“Well, maybe you could show me where it is?”  
  
Jemma scrunches her nose, grinning contentedly. “That sounds like a lovely idea.”  
  
Fitz extends his hand, gesturing into the distance. “Well, then. Lead the way?”  
  
Jemma turns around, and Fitz steps next to her. They walk slowly down the boardwalk side by side, Fitz tucking his hands into his pockets.  
  
After a few silent steps, Jemma’s voice interrupts Fitz’s train of thought. “I’m not particularly linguistically inclined, so forgive my ignorance, but what part of Scotland are you from?”  
  
Fitz turns his head to look at her and grins mischievously. “What makes you think I’m from Scotland?”  
  
Jemma laughs, shaking her head in amusement. “I might not be a linguist, but I know enough to recognize a Scottish accent when I hear one.”  
  
Fitz chuckles, before replying, “Glasgow. You? I mean, what part of England—?”  
  
“Sheffield.”  
  
Fitz raises his eyebrows. “Huh. Worked with someone from Sheffield back in London. Never been myself though.”  
  
Jemma shrugs ever so slightly. “I have to admit, I’ve never been to Glasgow either.”  
  
“Guess we’re even then.” Fitz looks down for a moment, kicking a pebble in his path. “Is your family still there?”  
  
Jemma bobs her head. “My parents, yes. My brother lives in London with his family. He has two daughters. Twins. Five years old. So adorable.”  
  
Jemma’s lips pull into a wide smile that Fitz can’t help but mimic. For a moment he loses himself in her bright, hazel eyes. He looks away, clearing his throat. “London, eh? Maybe I know him.”  
  
Jemma chuckles. “Yes, among almost nine million people, chances are certainly high.”  
  
Fitz can’t help but laugh. “You never know.”  
  
“True, I suppose.” She takes a few more steps along the path before speaking up again. “How ‘bout you? Any family still in Glasgow?”  
  
Fitz shakes his head. “No. It’s been just me and my mum since I was ten. My dad left.”  
  
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Jemma stops abruptly, causing Fitz to do the same and turn to face her.  
  
He shrugs. “I’m not. It wasn’t much of a loss to be honest.”  
  
“Oh.” Jemma lets out a shaky breath, seemingly unsure of how to respond.  
  
One corner of Fitz’s mouth ticks up, apologetically. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bring down the mood with my childhood stories, but—” He exhales sharply. “Took a few years of therapy but now I figure not talking about it just makes it worse.”  
  
Jemma’s face suddenly lights up again. “Oh, I agree. I mean, I have no comparable childhood stories, but… well, for me it’s the same with anxieties and OCD. The more I try to hide it, the worse it gets.”  
  
“Exactly.” Fitz nods in agreement, turning on his head to encourage Jemma to keep walking.  
  
Jemma falls into step next to him again. “What about friends, though?”  
  
Fitz can’t help but grin. “I’m not a lone wolf if that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
She chuckles, blushing slightly in embarrassment.  
  
Fitz smiles back at her. “I still have some friends in Glasgow, but most are scattered around the globe. My best friend lives in London actually. She’s a dancer. Musical actress. So, we got to hang out quite a bit while I still lived there. Although our schedules didn’t always overlap.”  
  
She nods her head in agreement. “Oh, yes, same for me and Sheffield. Most of my friends have moved.”  
  
Fitz shakes his head. “Bloody globalization, am I right?”  
  
Jemma drops her head back, laughing. “Yes, what’s with people and their desires to see the world and expand their horizons?”  
  
“Crazy wankers. The lot of them,” Fitz replies dryly.  
  
The remark earns him another chuckle from Jemma, before she comes to a sudden halt, gesturing to the side. “Well, here we are.”  
  
Fitz looks up at the hand-painted sign above the entrance to the café. “Looks nice.”  
  
“It really is,” Jemma confirms, taking the last few steps to the door and opening it.

* * *

Daisy looks up when the bells above the door jingle, and her eyes widen in surprise when she sees Jemma stepping inside (followed by a guy about their age who somehow looks like he arrived with her???).  
  
_We’ll get to that later_ , Daisy thinks, while welcoming her friend with an overly enthusiastic, “Well, hello there.”  
  
Jemma stops briefly, straightening up and smiling broadly (as usual). “Daisy? I didn’t think you worked weekends.”  
  
Daisy shrugs. “Not usually. Filling in for a sick employee. But how ‘bout you? Thought coming to my place was more of a work day thing for you.”  
  
Jemma walks up to the counter, sliding her purse off her shoulder and setting it down. “Usually, yes, but there’s an arts and crafts fair today that I wanted to check out.”  
  
Daisy presses her lips together, lifting her chin in understanding.  
  
_That explains the unexpected weekend visit, but not the dude following you to the counter like a stray puppy_ , Daisy thinks, while saying aloud, “Ahhh. I see. Same as usual?”  
  
“Yes, but for here.” Jemma gestures behind herself at the guy with the piercing blue eyes, who’s smiling friendlily. “And whatever he’ll be having.”  
  
Daisy turns to look at the mysterious stranger, grinning widely. “And what will _you_ be having?”  
  
“Oh.” His eyes widen in surprise and he takes a step back to look at the board above the counter, before his eyes wander back to Daisy as he gestures up. “I… I’ll need a second to look at the tea selection.”  
  
“Sure thing.”  
  
He takes a few more steps back to get a better view, and once Daisy is reasonably sure that the guy’s focused on the sign, she stares at Jemma, pointing at the dude and mouthing “Who’s that?”  
  
Jemma looks back a bit sheepishly, her hands drawing a half-rectangle into the air, as she mouths back “The bench guy.”  
  
It takes effort for Daisy to keep her surprised “ _What?!?_ ” silent.  
  
Jemma raises her eyebrows, shrugging, seemingly struggling with an explanation, but before Daisy can try to get more information, the bench-guy steps back to the counter, and Daisy’s head shoots up as if she’d been caught red-handed.  
  
He smiles politely. “I’ll try the Earl Grey. And one of those blueberry muffins.” He looks at Jemma, adding, “That piece you gave me yesterday was amazing.”  
  
A smile flashes across Jemma’s face, while Daisy realizes her own must look far more forced as she tries not to blurt out the two hundred questions currently burning on the tip of her tongue. She stares at Jemma, who stares straight back her, obviously aware that Daisy’s waiting for an explanation.  
  
Jemma turns to look at bench-guy, clearly trying an evasive maneuver. “Right? I’ve tried to coax the recipe out of Daisy, but she won’t budge on that.”  
  
Daisy crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Not. Gonna. Happen.”  
  
The guy chuckles quietly, gesturing at Daisy. “Hey, I get that. I’d protect that recipe with my life, too. Continue making a fortune by getting people addicted to your baked goods.”  
  
Daisy can’t help but scoff in amusement. “I’m definitely not making a fortune, but I’m keeping afloat.”  
  
_There’s definitely something about his smile_ , Daisy thinks, unable to stop her lips from ticking up.  
  
“Well then, two Earl Greys and two blueberry muffins coming right up.” Daisy rubs her hands together, stepping to the side to grab the muffins from the show cabinet.  
  
“Earl Grey’s your favorite?” the guy asks Jemma, his eyes sparkling happily, as if he’d just found the girl who fit the glass slipper.  
  
Jemma blushes, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and nodding in agreement.  
  
Daisy places the two small plates with the muffins on the counter, with admittedly a louder clank than strictly necessary, causing Jemma’s head to shoot in her direction.  
  
“Alright, tea will be just a moment.” Daisy looks at Jemma, dropping her gaze briefly to the muffin plates before staring back into her friend’s eyes, hoping to get her message across.  
  
Jemma swallows, a nervous smile flashing across her face. She picks up the two small plates, turns around and holds them up in front of bench-guy. “How about you find us a table, and I’ll come in a jiffy with the teas?”  
  
“Oh, sure.” He takes the plates from Jemma, before seemingly changing his mind and reaching past her to put them back on the counter. He reaches instead to pull his wallet from his back pocket. “I’d like to pay though. My treat.”

Jemma shakes her head. “Oh, no, you don’t have to.”

“You just saved me from a lonely Saturday. Please?”

Daisy feels like she can actually see Jemma’s heart melt, as her friend’s posture relaxes and a soft smile forms on her lips.

“Alright,” Jemma replies, hardly above a whisper, and bench-man’s grin grows even wider.

“Alright,” Daisy repeats, causing both of them to look at her. She types everything into the register and tells bench-guy the final amount, who slides his card through the reader, adding a considerable tip.

Daisy watches him through the corners of her eyes, her mouth twitching up into an appreciative half-grin. _And here I thought Scotsmen were supposed to be stingy,_ she thinks, refraining from saying it aloud.

Bench-guy picks the muffin plates back up, ticking his head to the side. “By the windows?”  
  
Jemma’s smile spreads ear to ear. “That would be lovely!”  
  
He nods, adding, “One sugar, splash of cream for me, if you don’t mind,” before heading over to a table by the windows and sitting down.

Jemma turns back to face Daisy, who in the meantime had grabbed two large cups and the Earl Grey from the shelf.  
  
“What the fuck happened?” Daisy hisses, quietly enough so that the guy won’t pick up what she’s saying. She spoons tea into two teabags, placing them into the cups.  
  
Jemma leans slightly closer, shrugging as she replies in a low voice. “As per your suggestion, I decided to talk to him and proposed a shared rental agreement of the bench so to speak. He agreed.”  
  
“It’s Saturday!” Daisy says matter-of-factly, knowing it’s enough for Jemma to realize that her explanation isn’t sufficient. She turns around to fill the two cups with hot water, before returning to her friend by the counter.  
  
Once again, Jemma lifts her shoulders. “He mentioned that he doesn’t have a lot of friends here yet and since I was planning on going to the crafts fair today, I decided to ask him if he wanted to join me.”  
  
Daisy wrinkles her forehead in disbelief. “So you went from being bench rivals to going on a date?”  
  
Jemma rolls her eyes indignantly as she grabs one sugar packet, pouring its contents into one of the cups and adding some cream. “We were never bench rivals. He had no idea he was sitting on my bench. And we’re not on a date. I’m simply trying to be a friend in a foreign setting.”  
  
Daisy widens her eyes, her eyebrows almost disappearing in her hairline. “So, you’re telling me you don’t want to tap that?”  
  
Jemma gasps, her mouth hanging ajar for a moment. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.”  
  
“I give you a month.” Daisy can’t help but grin challengingly.  
  
Jemma shakes her head, resenting Daisy’s insinuation. She grabs two more sugar packets, emptying them into the second cup and adding a splash of cream, before picking up both cups by the saucers. “Excuse me. My new _friend_ is waiting for me.”  
  
She turns on her heels to walk to the table where bench-guy is sitting, but Daisy takes the opportunity to quietly call after her.  
  
“One month!”


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma stops briefly in her tracks when the empty bench comes into view. She scans the area before continuing on her path. Once she’s arrived, her eyes once again wander up and down the boardwalk and to the beach. She furrows her brows, carefully setting the two to-go cups down on the bench. She slides her purse off her shoulder, until it rests on her stomach, and opens it. She reaches past the paper bag with the two blueberry muffins and into the side-pocket holding her phone, pulling it out. No messages or missed phone calls.

A sudden uneasiness overcomes Jemma. In the four months they’d shared the bench, Fitz has rarely been late. In fact, he’s usually the first one there due to his work schedule. And he always lets her know if he can’t make their date… meeting, their _meeting_.

Jemma waits, standing in front of the bench, too antsy to sit down. She exhales sharply when Fitz still hasn’t shown up after ten minutes. She finally dials his number, wrinkling her forehead when his phone rings several times before going to voicemail.

“Hey,” Jemma exclaims when she hears the beep, feeling terribly unprepared to leave a message. Her stomach churns uncomfortably. “It’s me. I… well, I’m here at our bench, and… well, you didn’t mention anything about not coming today and I don’t see any messages and I… I don’t know. I got a bit worried, so maybe… well, maybe you could give me a call? Let me know you’re alright? Thanks. Bye.”

She hangs up quickly, her eyes lingering on the screen. Her heart is beating quite erratically and she feels unreasonably tense. She draws in a deep breath, sliding her phone back into her purse and picking up the two to-go cups. One last time she glances in the direction Fitz should be arriving from, before heading back the way she came.

* * *

Jemma pushes the door to _Sky Full of Daisies_ open with her back, still holding on to the two full to-go cups. As usual, the bells above the entrance jingle, but unlike most times the sound doesn’t bring Jemma joy. She turns around, letting the door fall shut and slumping her shoulders.

“He wasn’t there,” she mumbles in confusion, her forehead wrinkled in thought.

Daisy’s head peeks up from where she’d been sorting bottles into the small fridge below the counter. “Fitz?”

“Who else?”

Daisy gets up, wiping her hands off on her apron before lifting her shoulders slightly. “Maybe he got hung up at work.”

“He usually lets me know these things.” Jemma takes a few more steps into the coffee shop, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She sets the two cups down on the table, staring for a moment at the one for Fitz. “What if he got into an accident?”

“Haven’t heard any sirens,” Daisy remarks matter-of-factly. She walks around the counter and pulls out the second chair at Jemma’s table, squinting at her in concern. “You okay?”

“Yes, of course.” Jemma shrugs, unable to stop her brows from furrowing and fully aware that she presumably hadn’t sounded very convincing. “I mean, I’m sure there’s a completely harmless explanation for it. It’s just—”

Jemma startles when her phone starts vibrating in her bag. She scrambles to pull it out of the purse and her face lights up when she sees the caller I.D.

“Fitz,” she answers the call excitedly.

“Hey. I’m so sorry.” His voice sounds breathy and a bit muffled, as if his phone is wedged between his ear and shoulder while he tries to multitask. “We’ve got a bit of a deadline crisis at work. Three of my colleagues went for dinner last night and now are reconsidering their choice of restaurant with their heads over their toilet bowls. This ruddy project needs to be finished today and the rest of us have been working our arses off, but we’ve been running into problem after problem, because apparently the cosmos thinks that’s hilarious. I’ve barely had a chance to take a break to eat, let alone do anything else.”

There’s a pause and Jemma can hear Fitz inhale deeply. “I’m sorry I missed your call,” he continues, his voice slightly more normal now. “And sorry I didn’t text or anything, it’s just been—”

“Oh. No, no, no,” Jemma interjects. “Please, don’t apologize. I’m sorry for interrupting your busy day. I was just surprised when you weren’t there and then my mind started working overtime, because, well you know me… and—Please, go back to your project.”

“Yeah, I… I should.” Fitz exhales sharply. “I’m sorry. I’d much rather sit on a bench with you than troubleshoot this mess, but—”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “Well, the bench and I will still be there tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it. I gotta go. Talk to you soon?”

Jemma nods, forgetting for a moment that Fitz can’t actually see her. “Yes, talk to you soon. Feel free to give me a call later if you need to vent.”

She hears a quiet chuckle on the other end. “Might just do that. Bye.”

Jemma looks at her screen once Fitz has hung up, smiling in relief. When she looks up, Daisy is staring back at her knowingly, a smug grin plastered on her face.

Jemma squints. “What?”

“You like him.”

Jemma shrugs. “Well, of course I do. We’re friends.”

Daisy ticks her head to the side, her eyes wide and scolding. “Miss Simmons, don’t play dumb.”

For a moment, Jemma holds Daisy’s stare, before slumping her shoulders and groaning quietly. “Ugh. Fine. Maybe, I like him a tad differently than I like some of my other friends.”

Daisy laughs. “Understatement of the century, but a first admission is better than nuttin’.”

Jemma furrows her brows, sinking even deeper into her chair. “Ugh. I hate when you’re right.”

Daisy purses her lips, reaching forward to pat Jemma’s knee. “Now, now, honeybun.”

Jemma straightens up, lifting her shoulders. “What do I do? It’s so hard to get a read on him. I mean, there are moments when I think that maybe—But then other times—”

A quiet snort escapes Daisy’s lips, but she raises her hands apologetically when Jemma gives her a disgruntled look. “Okay. Let’s summarize: You meet at your bench every day after work. Sometimes on weekends. Sometimes you go for lunch during the week. Sometimes you go out for dinner. You’ve gone to at least one movie, two concerts, two art fairs, and three farmers markets with him in the four months you’ve known him. _And_ you’ve hung out at home to binge watch stuff on Netflix.”

Jemma gasps. “Are you spying on us?”

“Spying on you?” Daisy laughs. “These are all things you’ve told me! I’m just keeping track. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m emotionally invested in you two. I gave you a month, remember?”

Jemma presses her lips into a thin line, looking skeptically at her friend. “Well, all of that is completely normal friend behavior. It doesn’t mean Fitz is romantically interested in me.”

“Okay. But remember when you threw out your back at work last month?” Daisy gestures towards the door. “You walked in here like a 95-year-old grandma ready to knock at the Pearly Gates, and still insisted on meeting Fitz at the bench. And then _he_ took you to urgent care, waited two hours with you for a doctor to hand you some muscle relaxants and tell you ‘Good luck!’ and then took you home and cooked you _dinner_ —”

Jemma ticks her head to the side. “Pasta and tomato sauce from a jar. Not exactly a three-course candlelight dinner.”

But Daisy continues, seemingly unimpressed by Jemma’s interjection. “Then he kept you company until you almost fell asleep on the couch from your meds, told you to go to bed instead because your back was already fucked up enough, and _then_ you found him the next day drooling on your sofa cushions.”

Jemma shrugs, still unconvinced. “Yes, well, still, that’s something any friend would do.” She gestures at Daisy, palm-up. “I would do that for you!”

“That’s very sweet, Jemma, but still, I think there’s a pretty good chance Fitz is doing all of that because he likes you. Like _likes_ you.”

Jemma sighs thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “But I can’t be sure of that.”

Daisy’s eyes widen and she puts on a suspicious and rather fake smile. “Hey, remember that time you were sulking silently because he’d taken your favorite bench and then you went and _talked_ to him and it all worked out?”

“But I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship by suggesting we become something he’s not interested in.”

Daisy drops her head back, rolling her eyes in discontent, before staring back at Jemma. “First of all: You’re adults. You think you wouldn’t be able to handle a little rejection?”

Jemma squints, insulted by Daisy’s question. “Well, of course I would, but it might still make things weird between us.”

“What if he _is_ interested?”

Jemma shrugs. “Well, then he could say something.”

Daisy’s eyes widen in fiery determination and her finger darts in Jemma’s direction. “ _You’re_ not saying anything either. He could have the exact same doubts you’re having.”

Jemma falls silent, sighing in defeat.

* * *

Jemma yawns, holding her book in one hand while reaching with the other for her wine to drink some more, before placing the glass back on the coffee table. She blinks a few times, glancing at her watch. It’s almost midnight. She looks back at her book before sighing and snapping it shut. She places it on her coffee table, grabbing her glass and emptying it in one gulp, realizing too late that there was maybe too much left to be considered a single sip. She coughs quietly and, once she has somewhat recovered, pushes herself up to standing.

She pauses when her phone lights up and quietly buzzes against the wooden surface of the coffee table. Jemma picks up the phone and sits back down on the couch, a smile flashing across her face when she reads Fitz’s message.

_Still up?_

She dials his number and when he answers with a happy “Hey!” Jemma can’t stop her lips from pulling even wider.

“Did you _just_ get home?” she asks.

“Yep.”

Jemma’s a bit surprised by how chipper his reply sounds. “Oh my! But you got the project finished?”

“Yeah, around ten, but we decided to grab a beer… or three, to celebrate.”

Jemma chuckles. “Well deserved, I assume?”

“I’d say so. The food-poisoning fraction can thank us later.”

“They better.” Jemma laughs quietly. She pauses when she hears Fitz clear his throat on the other end of the line.

“So, I wanted to apologize again for standing you up,” he remarks more seriously.

“Oh, please, Fitz. No. You had a perfectly good reason and I worried for nothing.”

She hears a contended puff of air through her phone. “It’s kinda nice to know that someone worries about me.”

Jemma can’t help but smile, swallowing to counteract the sudden tightness in her throat. “Well, that’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” she hears herself reply, as her stomach tightens uncomfortably.

Once again, Fitz clears his throat.

“Yeah. Umm. Listen,” he mutters, strangely breathless, causing Jemma to furrow her brows in slight confusion. “Speaking of friends, my… my friend from London, well Glasgow. My childhood friend. Moira. I… I’ve mentioned her. She… she and her girlfriend are coming here for some kind of fancy dance workshop, and… well, I was going to take them out for dinner, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us?”

Jemma’s expression softens and she lets out a surprised, “Oh.”

“Yes, I… well, I’ve mentioned you to her and she’d love to meet you, and I’d love for you to meet her, too. Plus, it would even out the playing field. Even numbers and all that.”

“Oh.” Jemma remarks, not sure why she feels disappointed by his last statement, considering it’s a perfectly logical explanation. “Well. Sure. That sounds lovely.”

“Does Sunday night work?”

Jemma hesitates for second before a smile flashes across her face and she replies. “Yes, Sunday would be perfect.”

“Great. I’ll tell you the details later this week, but I was thinking _A Hint of Pesto Aioli_.”

Jemma grins happily. “Well, you know I will never object to going to _A Hint of Pesto Aioli_.”

Fitz chuckles. “I figured you wouldn’t. Well, okay, I should maybe head to bed.”

“Same here.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jemma sighs contentedly. “Most definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to know more about how Jemma threw out her back, [there is now a missing scene for that.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13552020)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @dilkirani for the beta.

Fitz picks up his phone, anxiously glancing at the time, before placing it back down on the table. Nervously, he grabs his water glass and takes a sip, his eyes wandering to the entrance of the restaurant for the sixth time in the last two minutes. Moira clears her throat quietly to disguise the amused chuckle escaping her throat, and the sound causes Fitz to look up.

Moira smiles reassuringly at her childhood friend, ticking her head slightly to one side. “I’m sure she’ll be—”

“Jemma!” Fitz’s face lights up and he jumps up, waving enthusiastically and almost causing his chair to fall over backwards.

Moira glances to the side, exchanging a knowing look with Les, before both she and her girlfriend turn in their seats to look towards the entrance at the young woman waving just as excitedly back at Fitz. Jemma’s beaming smile is almost blinding. She weaves her way through the busy restaurant before stopping at their table.

“Hey!” Fitz takes a step closer, placing his hand on Jemma’s lower back and leaning in to place a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“Hey,” Jemma replies softly, her eyes sparkling happily in Fitz’s direction before wandering to Moira and Les.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before extending her hand, smiling widely. “Hi, I’m Jemma.”

“Moira.” Moira accepts the handshake, gesturing at her girlfriend. “And this is my partner, Leslie.”

“Just call me Les.”

Jemma shakes Leslie’s hand, nodding politely in acknowledgment of Les’ nickname, before exhaling sharply, pressing her palm against her chest.

“I’m so sorry. The bus was late,” she explains breathlessly, bringing her hand down to clutch her purse with both hands.

“No, no, no, don’t worry,” Fitz exclaims, rushing to the free chair at their table and pulling it out. “It’s just been a few minutes.”

Jemma smiles at Fitz with gratitude, before sitting down and setting her purse on the floor. Fitz scrambles to sit himself, immediately grabbing the carafe with water to pour some into the empty glass in front of Jemma.

“We also got some of the wine you like,” he remarks, putting the carafe down and reaching for the bottle of wine instead.

“Oh, thank you,” Jemma replies, when Fitz fills her wine glass. She picks up the menu lying on the plate. “Have you ordered food yet?”

Moira can’t help but laugh quietly. “No, Curly wasn’t lying, we haven’t been here for that long.”

“Curly?” Jemma asks in surprise, looking questioningly at Fitz, who squints in discontent.

“Yeah. Moira’s nickname for me since we were kids. Can’t break her off that habit. At least she’s stopped calling me—”

“Curly Sue,” Moira finishes, grinning mischievously at her friend, while Jemma chuckles.

“Thanks, Moira.” Fitz glares at her. “Thanks for that.”

“Well, let’s see what’s on the menu, shall we?” Leslie suggests, patting the laminated card in her hands encouragingly. As usual, she’s running interference when Fitz and Moira’s friendly quips start to go overboard.

They all fall silent for a moment, studying the food selection, until Fitz suddenly looks sideways at Jemma. “Hey, by the way, they have that linguine special again today that you didn’t try last time.” He lifts his chin in the direction of a large chalkboard on the wall listing the daily specials, and Jemma’s eyes follow his lead.

A smile lights up her face, and she looks back at Fitz. “Oh, well then I should try that today, shan’t I?”

“I say you should.” Fitz grins back at her, and the way both seem to have forgotten about the other guests at the table causes Moira to chuckle silently.

“You two come here a lot?” she asks, trying to suppress a smirk.

Fitz and Jemma’s heads shoot in the direction of the others, both suddenly brought back to reality.

“Maybe two, three times now?” Jemma shrugs, squinting briefly and looking at Fitz for confirmation.

Fitz nods. “Yeah. Jemma introduced me to this place.”

“It’s my favorite,” Jemma adds, scrunching her nose rather adorably as her lips pull into a close-mouthed smile.

* * *

They stand outside the Italian restaurant. Moira waits patiently until Fitz has closed the door behind himself and taken the one step down to the sidewalk, before she rubs her hands enthusiastically. “So. Where to next?”

Fitz extends his left arm to gesture down the street. “Well, there’s an English pub that way… and an Irish pub that way,” he adds, pointing in the opposite direction with his right.

Moira’s lips pull into a wide grin as she silently stares at Fitz.

Fitz chuckles quietly, dropping his left hand, keeping his right extended. “Irish pub it is, then.”

He shakes his head in mild disbelief, tucking both hands into his pockets. “You know, considering you moved to Scotland when you were six, I’m surprised by your loyalty to Ireland.”

Moira squints, pointing at Fitz in pretend disgruntlement. “Never question my loyalty to Ireland, Curly Sue. Never.”

Fitz laughs, raising his hands in defeat. He looks at Jemma, gesturing with his thumb in the direction of the Irish pub. “You coming, too?”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaims, noticeably flustered, clutching her purse with both hands. She smiles apologetically. “I’d love to, but… I need to go over my presentation for tomorrow one last time.”

Fitz’s eyes widen and he draws in a surprised breath before closing his eyes shut in embarrassment. He looks back at Jemma, gesturing at her palm-up. “God, I can’t believe I forgot about your presentation. And here I am, dragging you—”

Jemma places her hand on Fitz’s forearm, smiling reassuringly. “Oh, no, no, no, it was such a lovely evening, Fitz. I’m glad you asked me.”

Fitz’s expression softens and he briefly covers Jemma’s hand with his. “Okay, well, let me get you a taxi.”

“Thank you, Fitz.”

Fitz steps past Jemma closer to the curb to try and wave down a taxi, while Jemma turns to face Moira and Leslie. She extends her hand, smiling politely. “It was wonderful meeting you, Moira, Les.”

Moira can’t help but chuckle, spreading both arms wide instead. Jemma’s smile grows even bigger as she allows Moira to pull her into a tight hug.

Moira loosens her embrace, placing both hands on Jemma’s shoulders. “It was wonderful meeting you too, Jemma. I have a feeling it won’t be the last time.”

“Well, next time you’re here, we’ll be sure to grab dinner again, won’t we?”

Moira tries to disguise her snicker as a cough, nodding in agreement. “Mmhmm. Right.”

Jemma turns when Fitz calls from the curb, “Found you a taxi.”

She sighs, her smile growing a little sadder. “Oh, well, enjoy the rest of your evening.”

She walks up to Fitz, hugging him tightly before getting into the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Fitz’s lips pull wide and he nods before replying softly. “Same time, same bench.”

He slams the door shut, waiting for the taxi to pull away from the curb, before turning around, rubbing his palms together and announcing, “Off to the Irish pub?”

* * *

They squeeze into a booth at the far end of the pub; Moira and Les on one side and Fitz on the other. Moira takes a big sip of her Guinness, waiting until Fitz has shed his jacket and settled into his seat, before she asks the question that’s been burning on her tongue for the past few hours.

“Okay, so is now a good time to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Fitz shakes his head in confusion, taking a swig from his bottle of beer.

Moira exchanges a knowing look with Les, who rolls her eyes in amusement.

“About _what_?” Moira exclaims in disbelief. “Jemma, you nitwit.”

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face at the mention of Jemma’s name. “You like her?” he asks, his eyes wide as if he were somehow nervous about her reply.

Moira can’t help but laugh. “Yes, I do. She’s smart, kind, funny, very sweet, and absolutely gorgeous.”

Moira watches in amusement as Fitz’s eyes light up more and more with each compliment. She draws in a slow breath, trying not to grin too obviously. “But that’s beside the point. _You_ like her.”

Fitz shrugs, taking another sip of his beer. “Of course I do. We’re friends.”

Moira tilts her head to one side, looking at her childhood friend with pity. “Oh, Curly.”

“Wha—?” Fitz stares back at her, wide-eyed.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids, Fitz. I know your type. I know _you_. And I know when you’re crushing hard on someone.” Moira leans a little closer over the table. “Dare I say, when you _love_ someone?”

Fitz grimaces, lifting his bottle in Moira’s direction. “Oh, come on.”

Moira lifts first her thumb and then her index finger in the air. “You picked her favorite restaurant, her favorite _wine_.”

Fitz shrugs. “Because I don’t know the last thing about wine!” He gestures towards the entrance. “I knew I could trust Jemma’s judgment.”

Moira points at Fitz, continuing her list of charges. “You knew what she wanted to eat. You were a nervous wreck when she was five minutes late. Your face lit up and you literally jumped out of your seat when she arrived. You wanted me to meet her.”

“She’s a friend,” Fitz counters, defensively. “I wanted you to meet my friend.”

Moira glares back at him challengingly. “You didn’t bring that Hunter guy from work here. He’s your friend, too, no?”

Fitz holds her stare for a moment, before his eyes wander to his beer bottle. Absentmindedly, he begins peeling off the label.

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles quietly.

Moira’s expression softens as she notices her friend’s sudden somber mood. “Now, why would you say that?”

He looks up, hesitantly, shrugging slightly. “I just don’t know if—”

“If she likes you?” Moira can’t help but smile. “Curly, this was practically a double-date and she showed up for it!”

Fitz squints skeptically. “It was friends going out to dinner!”

Moira chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief over her friend’s obliviousness. “Alright. Fine. Then how ‘bout I phrase it this way: she agreed to go to dinner with two strangers because you asked her to, even though she has some huge work thing tomorrow morning.”

“Man, I still can’t believe I forgot about that,” Fitz mutters, scratching the label on his bottle with his fingernail.

“She smiled at you,” Moira continues. “All. The. Time. In fact, she genuinely laughed at even your lamest jokes.”

Fitz looks up from where his eyes were fixed on his beer, glaring at Moira, a bit miffed. “My jokes aren’t lame!”

Moira turns to her girlfriend, who bites her lip before admitting, apologetically, “Some of them kind of are, Fitz.”

Fitz’s eyes widen as he stares at Leslie. “Et tu, Les?”

Moira ignores Fitz’s interjection, moving on to her next point. “And, Curly, I don’t know how on earth you didn’t pick up on this, but she was nervous!”

“What?”

“Moira’s right, Fitz, she was nervous the entire time,” Leslie confirms.

“Rubbish.” Fitz squints, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why would she be—?”

“Because I’m the closest thing to family you have, Curly,” Moira interrupts her friend, gesturing at herself. “And she wanted to leave a good impression. She wanted me to like her.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Fitz throws one hand in Moira’s direction. “Of course you’d like her.”

“Yeah, of course I would. But that doesn’t change the fact that she was nervous I might _not_.”

Fitz frowns, letting Moira’s words sink in, before sighing. “I don’t know.”

Moira rolls her eyes, not quite believing Fitz still isn’t convinced. “Well, I do and I think you may have found your soulmate.”

“Soulmate? Oh please.” Fitz scoffs dismissively, before taking another swig from his beer.

Moira raises her hands in defeat. “Fine. Pick something more sciency, Mr. Engineer. You have chemistry. You’re compatible. You have a lot in common but not so much that it would be boring or creepy. Call it what you want, Curly, but I think what you two have going is more than friendship. And that goes for _both_ of you!”

Fitz shakes his head. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship by suggesting we become something she’s not interested in.”

“You’re adults, aren’t you?” Moira waves her finger in Fitz’s direction as she has a sudden epiphany. “Remember Debbie Rogers?”

Fitz slumps his shoulders, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I do.”

“You asked her out and she told you she wasn’t interested,” Moira recounts, excitedly.

“I said I remember,” Fitz replies drily.

“And what happened next?”

Fitz groans, realizing that Moira won’t let the story go untold. “She and I stayed friends. I introduced her to you. You started dating four weeks later.”

“And you were—?” Moira asks, dragging out the last word until Fitz begrudgingly replies.

“—fine with that.”

Moira triumphantly slams her hand on the table. “Exactly. Because you’re an adult, and unlike some people, you can handle rejection.”

Fitz chuckles quietly, before shaking his head. “Yes, but it might still make things weird between us.”

Moira groans in frustration. “Might. Maybe. Or not. Who knows? I think she _is_ interested, Fitz.”

Fitz inhales deeply, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I don’t know.”

Moira sighs, tilting her head to one side, and reaches across the table to cover Fitz’s hand with hers. “Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes and your mind open, Curly. I don’t want you to wake up in ten years regretting that you never made a move because you were too much of a wimp.”

Fitz scoffs, but one corner of his mouth ticks up into a half-smile. “God, you can be so charming sometimes.”

Moira grins widely, patting Fitz on his hand, before taking a sip from her Guinness. “I know. And you love me for it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to @dilkirani for being my beta.

Fitz looks up when Jemma’s shadow alerts him to her arrival. The warm, almost blinding, May sun shines behind her, giving her hair an extra warm and golden shimmer. A smile flashes across Fitz’s face as if by reflex, but it’s not half as wide as the one causing Jemma’s eyes to sparkle with excitement.  
  
“Hey,” he welcomes her, placing the journal he’d been reading down on the bench.  
  
Somehow her smile seems to grow even bigger. “Hey!”  
  
She extends one of her hands, enthusiastically handing Fitz his cup of tea. Fitz eyes Jemma with a slight hint of amused confusion as she sits down next to him, carefully setting her to-go cup on the armrest of the bench, her smile never fading.  
  
“You seem awfully chipper,” Fitz remarks, unable to stop from smiling himself. “I mean, even more than usual.”  
  
Jemma scrunches her nose. “Well, it’s a day to celebrate!”  
  
Fitz curiously raises his eyebrows. “Had a particular good Friday?”  
  
“No,” she replies, grinning almost mischievously.  
  
Fitz’s eyes widen in panic. “Is it your birthday?”  
  
“What?” Jemma wrinkles her forehead, waving Fitz off. “No, no. My birthday isn’t until September 11.”  
  
“Really?” Fitz gestures at himself. “Mine’s August 19.”  
  
Her face lights up for a moment, seemingly pleasantly surprised. “Oh, will you look at that. Our birthdays are close together.”  
  
“Guess so. Twenty-three days.” Fitz chuckles briefly, before clearing his throat and shrugging. “So, what are we celebrating then?”  
  
“Our anniversary,” Jemma replies matter-of-factly.  
  
Once again, Fitz’s eyes double in size. “What now?”  
  
Jemma shifts slightly in her seat to look at Fitz more directly, smiling widely. “Six months ago to the day, I introduced myself to you and our wonderful benchship—note the pun—began.”  
  
Fitz scoffs at her attempted pun, before drawing in a slow breath, furrowing his brows in thought. “Six months? Wow. Really?”  
  
“Yes.” Jemma turns to open her bag, retrieving a small, rectangular, flat gift, which has been carefully wrapped. She extends her hand in Fitz’s direction, her lips still pulled into a wide smile. “Happy anniversary.”  
  
Fitz stares at the present in Jemma’s hand, before his eyes wander up to look at her. “Jemma, no. I… I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t even know it was our anniversary. I can’t accept—”  
  
“Please, Fitz,” she interrupts him, ticking her head to one side, and encouragingly holding the gift a little bit higher. “To be honest, the timing—though perfect—is pure coincidence. It’s an idea I had a couple of months ago, but it took a while to work out the details.”  
  
Fitz squints in confusion and hesitantly accepts the present. His fingers glide over the wrapping, before he slowly undoes the bow and lifts the lid off the small box. His heartbeat quickens when he reads the inscription on the brass sign.  


  
  


Fitz turns, staring at Jemma with disbelieving eyes.  
  
“I noticed these plaques with dedications on other benches,” Jemma replies, her tone excited but shy. “And, I don’t know… it’s a public bench. It can’t be your bench, or my bench, or _our_ bench, but I thought… maybe in some way, it could be your mum’s.”  
  
Fitz blinks away tears, his gaze falling back at where the plaque rests on a bed of soft, white cotton in the box. Slowly, he lets his fingers glide over his mother’s name. His throat feels incredibly tight, and he nervously bites his lower lip as a million thoughts rush through his mind.  
  
“Are you alright?” Jemma’s tone is laced with worry and Fitz lifts his head in surprise. Her eyes seem misty and she’s noticeably anxious. “Should I not have done this? I thought it was such a good idea, but now… God, I’m so sorry, Fitz. I didn’t mean to upset—”  
  
She stops and her eyes widen when Fitz’s hand curls around her neck. For a split second a voice in the back of his mind yells at him to stop, but when he kisses her, everything but the softness and taste of her lips, the beating of his heart, and the excited churning of his stomach seems to disappear. Reluctantly, he pulls away, his thumb gently gliding across her cheekbone.

Jemma stares at him, wide-eyed and silent, and it’s in that moment Fitz realizes what he’s just done. He pulls his hand back, closing his eyes and turning away from her. He leans forward, resting his forehead in his palm, before rubbing his hand across his skull until his fingers dig into the back of his neck.  
  
“God, I’m so sorry,” he mutters, burying his face in both hands and groaning loudly, before straightening up to face her. “Jemma, I—”  
  
“I’m not,” she interrupts him quietly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.  
  
Fitz raises his eyebrows, unsure if he should interpret what she’s said the way his heart is aching for. “You’re not?”  
  
Her smile grows a little bit wider, and her hand reaches up, pressing gently against Fitz’s cheek. “Definitely not,” she replies, her voice raspier than Fitz has ever heard.  
  
Her lips seem even softer than the first time, when they brush against his, kissing him just a bit longer than he’d kissed her, before she rests her forehead against his, her breath tickling his face.  
  
She pulls back just far enough so their eyes can meet, sniffling briefly. She smiles at him with tears in her eyes, her thumb absentmindedly gliding across his bottom lip. “See, you got me something for our anniversary after all.”  
  
Fitz laughs, feeling his eyes well up as well. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers before closing the gap between their lips again.  
  
This time they take their time, deepening the kiss, their dancing tongues sending an excited shiver down Fitz’s spine.  
  
He exhales sharply when they need to come up for air, combing his fingers through Jemma’s hair, before letting his eyes wander back to the box still balancing on his lap. He stares at the plaque for a moment, then looks back at Jemma.  
  
“So, what do we do with it? You got a drill in your purse,” he jokes, lifting his chin in the direction of Jemma’s bag.  
  
His eyes widen when he notices Jemma grinning back at him rather sheepishly.  
  
“You have a _drill_ in your purse?” Fitz asks, unable to stop from laughing.  
  
“Well, it took quite some convincing, because usually the city takes care of installation, but I assured them that someone with a Ph.D. in Engineering would be perfectly capable of installing the plaque and eventually they gave in.” Jemma turns, rummaging briefly in her purse, before she triumphantly pulls out a letter of sorts as well as a small portable electric drill. She holds the letter in front of Fitz’s face, grinning cheekily. “Thus, I now have written permission from the Los Angeles Parks Foundation as well as the City of L.A. Recreation and Parks Department to take care of installation myself.”

She extends the hand holding the drill in Fitz’s direction. “The screws are in the box.”  
  
Fitz tries in vain to suppress a chuckle. “You have a _drill_ in your purse.”  
  
Jemma’s expression changes, revealing a hint of defensiveness. “I like to be prepared.”  
  
“A _drill_ ,” Fitz repeats, shaking from another laughing fit.  
  
“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma stares at him indignantly, stretching out the hand holding the drill. Yet she seems infected by Fitz’s laugher.

* * *

Fitz stops the drill, letting his thumb glide over the two screws to ensure they’re tight. He straightens up, his eyes fixed on the plaque for a moment, before he turns to Jemma. “Done!”  
  
Jemma smiles at him, holding her purse open for Fitz, who drops the drill back into the bag. She closes her purse, before turning her head slightly to look at the bench. “Looks good, don’t you think?”  
  
A smile flashes across Fitz’s face. “It’s perfect. She’d love it.”  
  
He pauses, feeling a wave of somberness rush through his body at the mention of his mother. He looks at Jemma and hesitantly reaches forward, taking one of her hands in his. “She’d love _you_ ,” he admits quietly, gazing into Jemma’s hazel-brown eyes. They seem a bit misty, but her lips pull into an even wider smile, as her free hand reaches for his other.

Fitz clears his throat, taking a step forward and inhaling deeply. “You mind if I—?”  
  
Jemma chuckles quietly. “You’re not planning on asking every single time you want to kiss me, are you?”  
  
Fitz bites his lower lip in embarrassment, before shaking his head slightly. “No. It’s just… I still can’t quite believe this is happening.”  
  
Jemma’s expression softens and she whispers a quiet “Same,” in reply.  
  
Fitz’s eyes wander to Jemma’s lips, before he allows his lips to follow suit, kissing her slowly, savoring every exhilarating sensation rushing through his mind and body. Her hands reach up to comb through his hair, while his arms wrap around her waist to pull her closer. Reluctantly, he breaks their kiss when the need for air becomes too great. Fitz sighs, leaning slightly backward, his hands resting firmly at the small of Jemma’s back.  
  
“So, how ‘bout I take you out to dinner to celebrate tonight? _A Hint of Pesto Aioli_?” Fitz suggests.  
  
Jemma purses her lips, shrugging slightly, her eyes fixed on where her fingers are absentmindedly playing with the collar of Fitz’s shirt. “Oh. Sure.”  
  
Fitz scoffs in confused amusement. “Don’t get too enthusiastic about it.”  
  
Jemma looks up, chuckling quietly. “No, it’s a lovely idea, but—” She pauses briefly, her eyes wandering back to his collar. “—I was thinking maybe we could go to your place and order in.” She gazes up, looking at Fitz through the corners of her eyes, which sparkle suggestively. “And then tomorrow morning, you could take me to _Sky Full of Daisy’s_ for breakfast.”  
  
Fitz raises his eyebrows, a smile appearing on his lips as if by reflex. “Tomorrow morning, eh?”  
  
“Mmm-hhhmmmm,” Jemma hums, leaning closer. Her hands curl around the back of Fitz’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss that most certainly conveys her intentions for the rest of the evening.  
  
Fitz exhales sharply when their kiss ends, feeling a little light-headed as all the blood in his body appears to have rushed to… well, other places. He clears his throat. Jemma’s face is still so close, their noses brush against each other.  
  
“We might have to stop by a drug store,” Fitz admits, causing Jemma to laugh.  
  
She bites her lip, lifting her shoulders ever so slightly. “Well, actually, Daisy may have put a box of condoms in my purse a few weeks back.”  
  
Fitz’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?” he asks, amused.  
  
Jemma scrunches her nose and shrugs. “I think she was getting impatient. Wanted me to be more proactive.”  
  
Fitz laughs, dropping his head back before looking at Jemma. “Guess, I’ll have to thank her tomorrow. Oh, wait, she doesn’t work Saturdays.”  
  
Jemma raises her finger, while keeping her other hand wrapped around Fitz’s neck. “Actually, she will tomorrow. The guy who usually works Saturdays is visiting family. Brother’s wedding or something.”  
  
Fitz tucks a strand of Jemma’s hair behind her ear. “How do you think she’ll react?”  
  
Jemma wrinkles her forehead, contemplating her answer, before replying matter-of-factly. “There’ll be a lot of ‘I-told-you-so’s and ‘Finally’s. Maybe even a victory dance.”  
  
Fitz chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Yeah. I think I’ll get something similar from Moira.” He clicks his tongue, raising his eyebrows. “Her victory dance might be choreographed. With her entire ensemble.”  
  
Jemma laughs out loud, before licking her lips, her expression growing more serious even though her eyes never lose their happy sparkle. She wraps her arms more tightly around Fitz’s neck, standing up on her toes to get closer. “I can live with that,” she says.  
  
“Same,” Fitz whispers, before closing the small gap between their lips for a tender, brief kiss.  
  
He sighs contentedly, gazing down at Jemma’s beaming face. “I could definitely get used to this.”  
  
Jemma grins back at him, brushing her lips against his, and suggestively pushing her body forward, pressing herself almost flush against him. “So. Your place?”  
  
Fitz nods, hugging Jemma a little tighter, before placing one last chaste kiss to her nose, unable to stop from grinning. “My place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering just what kind of friend Jemma Simmons is.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. They met Friday, November 6, 2015. Since 2016 is a leap year, six months later would fall on Friday, May 6, 2016… which is also my birthday, which makes this perfect and me not perfectionistic at all for trying to figure out if it were possible for them to meet on a Friday and have their six months meeting anniversary on a Friday too, because I needed the next day to be "not a work day" in both cases, 'cause reasons :)
> 
> Only the epilogue left ;)


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for being my beta through good times and when my muse doesn't quite want to cooperate.

Aileen walks down the boardwalk, carrying her one-year-old grandson on her hip. Her daughter, Sarah, walks next to her, her arm wrapped around her boyfriend’s waist. Aileen looks straight ahead. She can still see Rick, who has dashed ahead on his hoverboard. Clearly her nineteen-year-old is a bit bored by the whole shenanigans (but at least enthusiastic enough about visiting the beach).

Her grandson lets out an excited squeal when someone jogs past them with a dog. Aileen smiles at him, before turning her head back. Her eyes meet those of her brother, Iain, who grins back at her one-sidedly, lifting his chin briefly to indicate that they’re almost there. His wife walks next to him, holding on to Lily’s hand. The six-year-old gazes with wide-open eyes at the slowly sinking sun and the golden colors reflecting on the gentle waves of the ocean.

Aileen tilts her head slightly, looking past Iain to check on their parents. Iain’s nine-year-old, Natalia, is holding on to her grandmother’s hand, smiling up at her. Aileen marvels at how well her mother still looks, her silver hair pulled back into a ponytail, her style youthful and athletic. As her mum walks down the boardwalk, her fingers intertwined with those of her husband of fifty years, her smile is still beaming as brightly as when she was younger. Aileen can’t help but smile herself as she watches her parents walk side by side, surrounded by their family.

“You know we’re eighty years old, right?” Aileen’s dad suddenly calls out. “Why the bloody hell would you make us walk all this way?”

“Oh, Fitz, you know exactly where we’re headed.” Jemma looks at her husband through the corners of her eyes, grinning at him teasingly.

Fitz merely shrugs, scoffing quietly. “Could have rented a scooter or something.”

“Could have brought your own,” Daisy remarks dryly as she speeds past Aileen’s parents, only to slow down again, driving next to her friends in an almost comical slow tempo.

Fitz gestures in a half-circle that encompasses Iain and Aileen. “This vacation was a gift from our children. Didn’t think I’d have to take care of age-appropriate transportation myself.”

“Oh, Curly Sue, you old grump,” Moira pipes up from behind Aileen’s parents, her arm linked with that of her wife, Les.

His head shoots in her direction. “Who are you calling old?”

Jemma’s eyes widen and she draws in an exasperated gasp. “You just told our daughter that we’re eighty.”

Fitz shrugs nonchalantly. “So?”

All her mum seems to be able to do in return is shake her head, chuckling quietly.

“This it?” Rick calls from a little further down the boardwalk, hovering on his board next to a bench which has been covered with a white sheet.

Aileen looks at her son. “Yes,” she calls ahead, nodding in confirmation. “That’s it.”

“What on earth—?” Aileen hears her mother mutter in confusion, clearly surprised that her familiar bench is covered up.

Aileen comes to a stop next to the bench, waiting for everyone to gather around, before looking expectantly at her younger brother. “Alright. Iain, should I or do you want to?”

Iain scoffs, shaking his head, before lifting his chin in Aileen’s direction. “Who’s the public speaker of the family?”

“Very well.” Aileen readjusts her grip on her grandson, before facing her parents. “Alright, Mum, Dad. You are obviously very aware as to where we are right now. And obviously, Iain and I are very much aware of it, too, since you’ve dragged us here every year when we were kids, even after we moved away from L.A.. And I know your grandkids have heard the story of how you met at this bench, and how you got together on that same bench six months later, and how you got engaged on that bench a year after that, and how you got married at that bench a year after that on your two-year-anniversary, and how I’m still not entirely convinced I was not conceived—”

Her dad’s finger shoots in Aileen’s direction. “You were not conceived on this bench, young lady.”

“I’m forty-nine, Dad, forty-nine.” Aileen laughs, before clearing her throat to continue her speech. “Anyway. As I said, we all know the story. We all _love_ the story, and while maybe as a kid I wasn’t always super excited that we went to the same place every year on vacation, I will say that in retrospect, I love that we did and that this was so important to you that you wanted to share it with your children. That’s why I am very excited that today, on your golden wedding anniversary, we can all be here together. You, your children, your grandchildren, your adorable great-grandson, and the three women who consider themselves to have played a vital role in getting you together, Daisy, Moira, and Leslie.”

Aileen pauses briefly, taking the opportunity to gesture at the three honorary guests, before looking back at her parents. “Now, I know to you it doesn’t seem like a big deal, because being together has always been the easiest and most natural thing for you, but fifty years is really quite something, and so Iain and I thought long and hard as to what we could do for you to make this day something special. Now, we figured an all-inclusive trip to L.A., back to where it all started, was almost a given, but we wanted to do something more.”

“All-inclusive? Where’s my scooter then?” Fitz pipes up quietly, but Jemma gently tugs on his arm, and he falls silent with a boyish grin on his face.

“Thank you, Mum.” Aileen smiles gratefully at her mother before continuing. “Now, as I was about to say: Mum, Dad, you have been married for fifty years, and yet I find that you still look at each other with the same adoring gaze I remember from when I was a child. Now, Mum, fifty-two years ago, you surprised Dad with a gift so thoughtful and touching that he threw caution to the wind and kissed you for the first time.”

Aileen can’t help but smile when she notices her mum and dad looking at each other with the very same gaze she’d just described.

“Dad,” she continues, “you always like to tell the story of how Mum said this bench couldn’t be her bench, or your bench, but maybe it could be your mum’s, the woman after whom I was named.”

Aileen draws in a slow breath. “Well, Mum, Dad—Iain and I decided it was time this bench finally became yours. Iain?”

Aileen lifts her chin in her brother’s direction, who nods, taking a few steps to the bench and pulling down the white sheet.

Slowly, Aileen’s parents take a few steps closer. Jemma’s hand flies to her chest and she gasps in surprise when she reads the inscription. “Oh, Fitz, will you look at that!” she exclaims, tears in her eyes.

Fitz blinks away tears as well. “Now, that’s something.”

Her parents straighten up, pulling both their children in for a tight hug. Aileen smiles at her mum and dad. “Well, there’s still a bit of time before dinner. We thought maybe we’d give you some alone time on your bench.”

“That sounds quite lovely.”

“Yeah, and then maybe you can pick us up with a scooter in half an hour or so,” Fitz adds with a grumpiness in his tone that’s only about 50% pretend.

Aileen laughs. “Sure, Dad. Anything on your special day.”

“Alright,” Daisy pipes up, opening the small compartment on her scooter and retrieving a thermos with two cups and a small paper bag. “Wouldn’t be the same without your favorite tea and blueberry muffins. Enjoy, you two lovebirds, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“We’re eighty years old,” Fitz replies matter-of-factly as he accepts the thermos and muffins from their friend.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Daisy replies, cheekily.

* * *

Jemma takes a sip of her tea, snuggling a bit closer against Fitz, whose arm is draped around her shoulder. She watches through the corner of her eye as he takes the last bite of his blueberry muffin, his eyes fixed on the sun that has almost completely disappeared behind the horizon.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Fitz shifts slightly, his head bending down to look at her. “What for?”

“For stealing my bench.”

A quiet chuckle escapes his lips, and he tightens his arm around her. Even at eighty, his eyes still sparkle with the same blue she fell in love with when they were twenty-eight.

“Well, it does have the best view,” Fitz replies, gazing straight into Jemma’s soul.

Jemma smiles widely, unable to take her eyes off her husband of fifty years. She ticks her head sideways ever so slightly. “The ocean is that way,” she remarks, teasingly.

“Who needs the ocean,” he whispers, before leaning down to gently kiss her as the waves wash onto the shore in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all your lovely comments on this fic. Admittedly, I could have ended it after the last chapter, but I liked the idea of FitzSimmons getting their own plaque (but I wanted them to be alive for it :) ). There might be some related shorter fics for this universe in the future (someone may have requested the episode of Jemma throwing out her back and Fitz taking care of her ;) ), but be patient.
> 
> +++
> 
> @lilsciencequeen told me that she has a headcanon for this fic that she believes Fitzsimmons' offspring go to the bench when they're in college or some other time and meet their partner(s) at the same bench. She thinks it's a matchmaking bench.
> 
> Now, while I cannot confirm that headcanon, it may be entirely possible that nineteen-year old Rick, in his boredom, wandered away from the golden wedding bench shenanigans, and was approached by someone inquiring what was going on at that bench where they usually hang out to watch the sunset and it may be entirely possible that Rick was quite enamored of the Californian stranger (who was conveniently his age).
> 
> +++
> 
> Did you like this story? Do you enjoy when the life of Jemma "I excel at preparation and love my routines" Simmons gets thrown for a loop by a mysterious stranger (hint: Fitz)? Is "two strangers meeting at a bench" a thing you can't get enough of? Strangers/Enemies to Friends to Lovers: you're kind of trope? Then check out ["Ritualistic (A FitzSimmons Short Story)"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5212751) by [@Fritzen_lcaos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fritzen_lcaos/pseuds/Fritzen_lcaos)


End file.
